Red Eye - 02 (33 page)

The vampires were yelling in consternation.

Tina cried out, “What in the name of hot holy fuck was—”

CRASH!!!

A second shuddering bang. The bus leaped like a horse that had been slapped on its hindquarters.

“Someone’s ramming us!” Patti squealed.

“No shit. You think?” Tina said.

“Who is it?” said a fretful Andy Gregg. “Is it them?”

Redlaw floored the accelerator.

“Redlaw? I said, is it them?”

“I don’t know. Probably. A car just went past a moment ago, one of those Hummers, I think they’re called. It must have turned back. Our blacked-out windows gave us away. Now shut up, everyone, and sit tight. I can—”

CRASH!!!

The Hummer must have really poured on speed this time, and come in at an angle as well, because the bus rocked as though a landmine had gone off under its rear axle. It was thrown round, back end slewing outwards wildly.

Redlaw hauled on the wheel, turning into the skid to counteract it. He’d done a driver-training module with the Met, years back. He knew a trick or two. But a clunky Starcraft school bus was a very different prospect from a police Vauxhall Vectra, and then there was the snow to consider. Half the rules he had learned no longer applied.

The rear offside wheel struck the kerb. The bus juddered back the other way. Redlaw instinctively wanted to apply the brakes, but that was more likely to lose him control than gain it. He eased off on the accelerator instead, allowed the steering wheel to reorient itself, then stamped hard. The bus jerked forward, finding purchase again in the snow.

The road terminated at a T-junction. Redlaw threw the bus into a sweeping left turn. He had no time to check if any traffic was coming from either direction, and his scope for doing so was severely limited anyway. He just assumed the way would be clear. Given that the blizzard had brought New York virtually to a standstill, it seemed a safe enough bet. If not... Well, it wasn’t as though he had much choice.

A horn blared ahead. The viewing slot was filled with an oncoming municipal snowplough truck.

Redlaw plunged the bus into the opposite lane. He had no idea how narrowly he missed the snowplough truck; he only knew that he did. From behind he heard a faint but heavy
thunk
and inferred from this that the Hummer hadn’t been so successful. It must have been following the bus so closely that the driver hadn’t spotted the snowplough truck until the last moment, when the bus peeled left and revealed it.

Was it too much to hope that there had been a head-on collision and the Hummer was now out of action, front end impaled on the blade of the snowplough?

A just God, surely, would have made that happen.

But you couldn’t always tell whose side He was on.

Bullets whanged and gonged into the rear of the bus.

So much for that hope
.

“Down! Keep down!” Redlaw shouted.

The vampires, screaming, ducked in their seats.

“Tina! Bullet holes. Are there any?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Look, damn you.”

Tina peeped over her seat headrest. “One or two.”

“Low down?”

“Yeah.”

“Then our passengers should be all right. For now. Fraxinus don’t have the penetrating power of ordinary bullets. The bodywork should take most of the velocity out of them. But if they start shooting at the windows...”

They did. Glass shattered. Rounds punched through the cartridge paper. Spears of milky daylight lanced in. The vampires crouched still further down.

“Brace yourselves!” Redlaw ordered.

He didn’t give any more warning than that. He hammered down on the brake pedal. The bus went into a straight-line skid, as though on skis. The Hummer pounded right into the back of it, propelling it forward even faster. The two vehicles bobsledded along the street in tandem, locked together. Redlaw held the wheel in the central position with all his might.

Then he jammed on the accelerator, wrenching the bus away from the Hummer. He prayed to God that he had done some significant damage to the car by forcing it to hurtle headlong into an almost stationary object. Hummers were tough things, but maybe he had cracked the radiator or even bent the front axle...

No more shooting. For a few blissful moments Redlaw was able to believe that their troubles were over. The Hummer
had
been disabled. The bus could carry on sailing down the street, unmolested, unpursued.

Then the revving of the Hummer’s engine returned, growing louder. The car appeared to be pulling alongside the bus.

And then a muffled thump on the roof.

Someone was up there. Someone had leapt from the Hummer to the bus.

Without taking his eyes off the road, Redlaw pulled out his Cindermaker, racked the slide one-handed on his thigh, aimed over his shoulder and blasted six rounds into the ceiling. He ran the shots in a row down the midline of the bus. One found its mark, as he heard a shrill girlish wail followed by a succession of rolling thuds—the sound of a body tumbling along the roof and toppling off the end.

The roar of the Hummer faded. It was drawing back, no doubt to pick up the fallen soldier.

“Tina. Patch those holes.”

“What?”

Redlaw pointed behind him to where rods of daylight descended from ceiling to aisle. Flakes of snow from the roof were sifting in. “The holes. Stick tape over them.”

“I’m busy.” Tina had her camcorder out and was popping the lens cap.

Redlaw snatched the camera off her and shoved it down in the pedal footwell. “Not now. Later. Priorities.”

“All right,” Tina huffed like a teenager. She rummaged in her rucksack for what was left of the parcel tape and began tearing off small strips with her teeth.

No sooner were the holes blocked than the Hummer returned, pulling level on the left-hand side again.

Redlaw veered towards it. The two vehicles touched, flank to flank. Metal squealed. Scraped. Groaned.

The Hummer drew away, then returned the favour by shouldering sidelong into the bus. A couple of windows broke, but the cartridge paper held fast. Tina had made a good job of the daylight-proofing, Redlaw had to give her credit for that.

He hared across a four-way intersection, running a red light. The Hummer stayed abreast. The bus was doing a mean 30mph, far too fast for snow as deep as this. Redlaw felt only half in control. The rest was up to providence.

Another of those muffled thumps overhead. A second soldier was attempting to succeed where his comrade had failed.

This one didn’t mess about. He opened fire immediately, riddling the roof with bullets. Everyone in the bus started yelling and screaming, save Redlaw. Fraxinus rounds raked the interior. There was a howl as one of them struck home.

The shooting stopped.

Clip empty
. Redlaw waggled the steering wheel as much as he dared, in order to keep the soldier off-balance and prolong the time it took him to reload.

“Who’s hit?” he called out.

“Me,” said an anguished Miguel. “My goddamn leg.
Hijo di puta!
”

“A graze?”

“No. It’s gone right in. Deep. Hurts like a bitch.”

There was nothing that could be done for him, then. A graze from a Fraxinus was survivable, if you hacked around the wound with a knife straight away and gouged out all of the flesh that had come into contact with the bullet. But since this bullet was lodged in Miguel’s leg, its ash-wood would already be poisoning him, contaminating his system. The rot would spread outwards like high-speed, red-hot gangrene. Miguel was doomed.

He knew it. His face was wan, his already sallow complexion now gone the grey of oatmeal. His eyes were dark and lost, filled with dread.

“I need both hands free,” Redlaw told him. “You’re the professional busman. Take the wheel.”

Miguel understood what was being asked of him. He didn’t have long. Might as well put his last few minutes to good use, even though he and Redlaw were both aware that it was going to cause him further suffering. He limped up the aisle, through the crisscrossing bars of dim sunlight. Each beam singed his skin like a brand.

Redlaw sprang from the driver’s seat and Miguel slid in to take his place. The bus decelerated momentarily but Miguel soon had it up and rolling again.

“Won’t be for long,” Redlaw said. “Just so that I can deal with the bloke on top. Can you hang on?”

Miguel peered into the slot as though it were a portal into the heart of a nuclear bomb blast. The skin around his eyes had already begun to redden.

“Wish I had some shades,” he said. “Yeah, I can hold on. Just be quick.”

“Keep her steady as you can.” Redlaw patted Miguel on the shoulder, then dived for the AR-15. Holding the rifle vertical, he strode down the aisle, firing upwards at random. He didn’t expect to get as lucky this time as he had the last, but he wanted the soldier on the hop, unsure.

“Stay right down,” he ordered the vampires. “Yet more light coming in.” He flung open the rear door, slung the rifle over his back by its strap and swung himself out. Using the backs of the rear seats as footholds, he clambered up onto the roof.

In front of him, ankle-deep in trampled, pockmarked snow, was one of the largest human beings he had ever laid eyes on. The soldier was at least six-five and massively muscled, with the proportions of a bodybuilder. His sleeves and trouser legs strained to contain his immense knotty limbs. Whether he was white, black, Asian, whatever, there was no way of telling. Not an inch of his body was exposed. Battle fatigues, helmet, goggles, face mask and gloves covered all.

He was braced with a semiautomatic rifle pointing downward, ready to send more bullets into the bus. Then he straightened. He turned. His augmented sensorium had alerted him to a presence behind him.

Redlaw threw himself flat, bringing the AR-15 to bear at the same time. He tried to line up a shot, but the soldier leapt, landed right in front of him, and booted the rifle out of his hands.

Rather than go to retrieve that gun, Redlaw grabbed the soldier’s gun by the barrel. He twisted it to the side as hard as he could, hauling himself upright at the same time.

The two of them grappled with the rifle, but it was a one-sided struggle and the outcome was never really in doubt. The soldier easily gained the advantage. He yanked the rifle round hard, sending Redlaw slithering backwards across the roof.

The piled-up snow saved Redlaw, slowing his progress, giving him the chance to catch himself before he toppled off the side. He dug in with his hands and feet and launched himself back at the soldier like a sprinter from the starting blocks. Jacobsen’s combat knife slid from its sheath.

The soldier stepped smartly aside. Redlaw slashed with the knife as he lurched past. Cloth tore. No wound. But that was fine. A section of the soldier’s trousers split open, revealing chocolate-brown skin.

The soldier chuckled.

“Missed!”

Then he cursed.

“Oww. Shit. Cocksucker. That smarts.”

Sun. Burning.

Redlaw doubled back, not so much running as scrambling on all fours. The bus was jouncing and swaying. It was tricky to stay upright.

The knife made a rent in the soldier’s sleeve.

“Oh, no. You did not.”

Before Redlaw could regroup for a third attack, the soldier reached out, astonishingly fast, and seized him by the neck.

“That’s quite enough of
that
, little man. My turn to bring the pain.”

He hoisted Redlaw up with one hand, throttling him. With his other hand he grasped Redlaw’s wrist, holding the knife at bay.

“Gonna squeeze the life out of you. Gonna pop that pointy head right off of its stem.”

Redlaw clutched the soldier’s goggles and pulled them down.

Instantly he was dropped. The soldier fumblingly clawed the goggles back into place. This gave Redlaw time to lunge for Jacobsen’s AR-15, which lay half buried nearby.

He fired the shot one-handed while lying on his side, propped up on an elbow. Not the ideal position if accuracy was your goal. His target was sizeable, and close, but still he managed only to wing the soldier, clipping his shoulder.

He didn’t get the chance to fire a second shot. The soldier hurled himself at him with a feral growl. He dived into Redlaw head-first and together they slithered on their bellies along the roof towards the rear of the bus. The AR-15 slid off the roof. Redlaw felt himself swinging outwards into empty air. He fell. The soldier fell with him.

Redlaw latched on to the top of the wide-open rear door with a flailing hand. The soldier did the same. For several moments the two of them hung off the door side by side, clinging on for all they were worth, legs dangling.

Then the soldier got his act together and started kicking Redlaw. He delivered two, three, four good heel-shots to Redlaw’s midriff and thigh. Redlaw could feel his fragile purchase on the door slipping. The Hummer was zooming up behind. If he lost his grip he would fall beneath the car’s wheels, or bounce brokenly off its bull bar.